Beyond paradise (15 page)

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speak to his enemy long enough to hate him first. It was always a relief when a merchant sailor wielded the first blow against him, breaking the tension and giving him reason to retaliate.

It was all so confusing. There was such a crowd that hitting a fellow pirate was a real danger. Men were elbow to elbow, trying to wield swords without enough room to swing. The rain started again, and Jacques could not tell whether it was water or sweat which dripped in his eyes and forced him to squint. His hair stuck to his forehead like the day he was baptized. He swung his cutlass out in front of him for the life he'd never had. And he grinned. Because he thought he could hear. In his madness, in the midst of the adrenaline which made his head feel like an empty tin, he could almost hear the cries of his brothers. And all he wanted to do was win for them. His ivory shirt grew transparent in the rain, the cold causing his veins to shine blue across his muscles. He felt really, truly alive.

A fellow pirate stumbled into him, nearly knocking them both to the ground in his grappling effort to remain afoot. That granted Jacques's current opponent a huge window of opportunity. His sword nearly came crashing through Jacques's skull, and would have, if he hadn't ducked stealthily out of the way. Realizing he had nearly been killed made him angry, and put a new surge of determination in his own swing. Somehow, a merchant sailor managed to grasp Jacques around the neck. It seemed very bad luck that two merchants would be fighting him when they were so badly outnumbered as a whole. But he instinctively clutched the arm that threatened to strangle him, kicked hard into his assailant's kneecap, and ducked, causing one man to roll onto the other. Thunder roared angrily overhead.

Jacques looked about him for Sebastien. It was hard to see anything through the crowd and the fog, so he maneu-

Elizabeth Doyle

vered his way through coupled-off opponents, calling out his friend's name. When he saw him he ran, shoving even fellow pirates out of the way to reach him. Sebastien was outnumbered, two against one, and losing. But with a swift punch, Jacques took care of that inequity. He broke the sailor's nose, dodged a blow to himself, and punched again, three times until victory. Sebastien felled the remaining opponent. "Thank you," he said.

"May as well thank me for breathing," cried Jacques. "I can't let them go in pairs against a friend."

The two didn't realize the fight was over until they looked around, in search of a new opponent, sweat and rain dripping from their hair, and could find none. Only pirates were left standing and unbound. It was a victory, but it seemed to dawn upon the crew one man at a time, and it was quite a while before they all began to cheer. Jacques did not cheer at all. He was so worn out, he just flopped over, grasped his knees, and breathed, glancing up only once in a while to share a grin with a walloping shipmate. All of the loot was theirs. They would have fresh food, fresh water, and enough gold and silver to buy whatever else they desired. Many of the pirates who had fought less fervently than Jacques were already bounding around the ship, collecting valuables. No one was worried about others reaching the bounty first. Everything would be divided evenly at a later time. It was their law. Jacques, most of all, did not care about searching for loot, for there was only one prize he truly sought from this ship. "Get me the captain," he breathed to Sebastien, "then go get Sylvie."

It was not a beautiful night for a wedding. Drizzling, foggy, and damp, it was just cold enough to be unpleasant. Jacques knew he was sweaty and bruised, not at all the picture of a charming groom. But when Sylvie saw him, his sun-bleached hair tumbling in his handsome face, his mus-

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des bulging obscenely through his transparent sleeves, and his breathing as heavy as when he'd just made love, she thought for one moment that perhaps marrying him wouldn't be so terrible after all. She inwardly scolded herself for harboring such thoughts. There was just something about handsome men . . . she swore they should all be outlawed. It just wasn't safe having them roam about freely. Not when they could drive even a sensible woman wild with their subtle guile and sinfulness. "Are you ready?" he asked, still holding his knees, regaining his breath.

Sylvie shook her head bitterly. She had not even changed into the dress he'd offered her. She had merely thrown a shirt over her old, torn gown. There was no chance she would go through with this voluntarily, though Pierre held her like a rope, and had used bodily force to drag her on deck. "Is that why you didn't change your dress?" he asked, only now noticing in the course of a quick visual scan.

She nodded.

He looked annoyed. "Not wearing the dress won't stop the wedding," he said. He had wanted her to feel pretty. It was only a little gesture. He knew this wasn't much of a wedding, but somehow, he thought she'd feel better if she'd just done that one little thing—put on a pretty dress.

"I'm not taking the vows," she said.

She just didn't understand. Jacques shook his head absently, taking one last moment to regain his strength. There was so much she didn't know about pirates. "All right," he said, straightening up and moving to his lady's side. Sylvie felt giddy having him stand so near. He looked absolutely magnificent. In the finest tailored doublet and cravat, he would not have looked as smashing as he did fresh from a battle, hard and raw. He was careful about putting his hand on her back. He was self-conscious about his unseemly appearance and his need for a bath. He had no idea that Sylvie

Elizabeth Doyle

wanted to eat him alive, just as he was. "Let us move forth," he said, facing the merchant captain, who was being forced at gunpoint to perform this service. Still overwhelmed that his ship had been defeated, and scared that he might be killed, he could not even look up from the ground.

"On with you," said Francois, thrashing the poor captain with the blunt of his sword.

"What.. . what do you want?" he croaked out. He looked as though he would weep.

"Marry this couple, and do it properly. Hurry."

"I uh ... I've never done this before."

"Then improvise!"

The captain was too scared to refuse. He only hoped he could remember how the words were meant to sound. He had seen marriages before, so he wrung his memory and began shakily, "Do you, uh .. . do you take ..."

"He can't hear you!" barked Francois. "He's a deaf man. Lookup!"

"Do you," he began again with red eyes and quivering lips, "take this woman to uh ... to ... be your... wife, and to ..."

"I know the rest," Jacques said, leaning restlessly into one leg. "Yes. Yes I do."

"And do you ..."

"No!" snapped Sylvie.

The captain looked about worriedly. What was he supposed to do now?

"Just keep going," said Jacques, not even reprimanding Sylvie with a pinch or a glare. She'd warned him she would do that, so he had no reason to feel angry. His only concern was that the captain know his place, and keep going.

"Well, technically," the captain stammered, "I think if she ... if she says no, then I can't..."

"Who asked you to be technical?" griped Sebastien. "Keep going."

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"Very well, then, uh . . . well, what do I do? Do I ask again?"

"Just make it official."

"Ummm. Officially then, you're man and wife. I think "

That was good enough for Jacques. "Thank you," he said gruffly, and nodded that his friends could drag the poor man away. He took Sylvie by the hand. "Come, wife. Let's celebrate in the Great Cabin. You've never been in there before."

"I am not your wife," she said, snatching away her hand. "I did not agree. That marriage counted for nothing."

He crossed his idle arms and leaned into one hip. "Well, after supper we can go to my hammock and see whether it counted."

Sylvie's eyes grew hot with pain and anger. "Is that a threat, sir?"

"A threat?" he asked with a tight jaw, feigning a look of confusion. "What do you mean?"

"If you force me, it will be rape," she said. "Nothing other than rape."

"Why would I have to force you tonight?" he asked. "I didn't have to force you this afternoon."

"I didn't hate you then."

The way she said it was funny, so he smiled despite himself. "Let me make sure I understand. You were fond of me when you thought I was going to bed you and throw you away. But because I've taken wedding vows, you think I'm a rogue?" His eyebrow lifted in amusement, and his stubbled lip curled with suppressed delight.

"You can try to make it sound amusing," she said, "but you know as well as I what I'm angry about. If this marriage were real, it would have ruined my life! Thank goodness it counts for nothing." But even as she spoke so boldly, she was worried. How could she be absolutely sure that the marriage was not valid? It had been conducted by a person of proper authority, the magic closing words had been stated.

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She was fairly certain that her refusal to say / will made the entire event null and void, but was she absolutely positive? How did one find out a thing like that? Surely, there was a book somewhere in the world that stated all the specifics. But where would she find such a book? Oh, good lord, she realized, she wasn't at all certain that she wasn't his wife. She was only pretending to be certain.

"I don't think I'm the one who wants to ruin your life," he muttered, pulling her gently by the hand. He was talking about Etienne. He was talking about Sylvie's previously impending marriage to a man who was neither attractive nor courageous, a man who would neither love her nor honor their marriage vows. It was true Etienne could have offered Sylvie some very important things that he could not—the kinds of things money could buy. But Jacques would always be faithful, would always adore her, and damned if he wouldn't spend what little gold he could scrounge to buy her pretty things. She didn't want to see it, but he was sure he had done her a favor. A favor that benefited him, too, no question about that. But he would not listen to words about how he had ruined her life. As far as he was concerned, he had just saved it.

The couple was greeted jubilantly in the Great Cabin. Sylvie had never been there before, as Jacques had been so concerned about her modesty. But apparently, as his wife, she was quite secure. Though he kept a possessive arm about her waist, and would not loosen it even when she seemed to struggle in trying to reach for something, he was apparently, at least, confident enough to bring her there. Rather than letting her reach for a punch glass herself, he would restrain her and reach in her stead, handing it to her with a reassuring smile. His concern made her concerned. And she was careful not to look any of the pirates in the eye. Still, it was a beautiful room, bedecked with dim lanterns and red velvet. It was quite out of character with the rest of the rugged ship.

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It was like a floating ballroom, furnished lavishly with intricately carved tables and chairs. The only thing which lacked romance was the quality of its guests, all of them sweaty, some of them still bleeding, and many of them shouting things to the tune of, Death makes me thirsty! Aha!

Sylvie couldn't help but notice the large number of missing limbs. She liked to think she was a generous soul, but at that moment, she didn't feel like one. For the sight of so many hooks strapped to stumps of flesh made her want to turn away. And she knew there was nothing warmhearted about that. She chased away a sudden fear that Jacques, too, may lose a limb—or even his life—some day. All around her were signs that pirating was a dangerous way of life. Some men were missing eyes, some had voices that scratched strangely, as though something had happened to their throats. And a few seemed to have lost their souls. That was a hard thing to determine, just at a glance. But a couple of the pirates looked at her with such disdain and such drunkenness, and rambled on so senselessly, that she honestly believed they were lost. She was scared for Jacques. She found herself leaning into his firm body, his warmth, receiving an extra squeeze as a reward for her affection, and hoping with all her might that he would not wind up like some of the others. He was still so young.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked, mistaking her concern for affection. He didn't know that the pirates were scaring her or making her worry over his fate. He only knew she had stopped pulling away and started relaxing against him. He wanted to encourage her, wanted her to start feeling at home against his hip. So his smile was charming and kind. "I think they have some candy if you'd like it, taffy or something." He didn't know much about women, but had a strange notion that they liked to eat sweet things. He remembered it from somewhere.

Elizabeth Doyle

"I want to go home," she said stiffly, shattering all his hope that she might be growing more comfortable. "I don't want taffy, I don't want to make myself at home, I don't want to stay in this room or on this ship. You promised me once you'd find me a way home, and I want you to abide by your own word."

Now Jacques was just angry. He was about to retort in some horrible way, but the look on Sylvie's face stopped him. She seemed to have heard something startling. He looked around and saw glazed faces everywhere. He tried to catch Sebastien's eye. "What is it?" he asked.

Sebastien looked horrified. "Cannon fire," he replied as though getting out the words in his state of astonishment were a struggle.

"What?" asked Jacques, scrunching up his face. "Cannon fire? From where?"

Captain Roberto rushed into the Great Cabin. "Gunners, get to your stations! Fighters, get on deck! We are under attack!"

"Who?" someone shouted among all of the sudden commotion.

"Pirate hunters," he declared.

Sylvie clasped her throat. "Jervais!"

Sixteen

There was no hope for the pirates. They had been caught completely off guard. Had they not just tasted victory, had they not been celebrating like fools, they might have seen the ship in time. But even the lookouts were inebriated, and most everyone was too busy examining their stolen spoils to consider that they might have to defend their own. Sylvie waited with bated breath in the cabin where she had been sent. Jacques had led her urgently, tugging painfully at her arm, wearing the expression of a man who knew he was done for. He closed the door behind her without even a kiss, and his footsteps flew away. Sylvie could not have been more pleased with her instructions. She did not want to watch the fighting, nor did she want to be torn by the sight. She could not root for the pirates, not when her freedom was at stake. But neither did she want to be subjected to the sight of their downfall. She had come too close to knowing them. She couldn't bear to see some of them die, some of them fall prey to capture at the hands of those she must thank.